Along the Way
by DreamScene
Summary: They grow up gradually amid homework assignments, projects and other distractions. Ninamori/Naota
1. Downpour

A/N: Love this pairing and thought I'd give them a shot. This fandom is kind of intimidating, but it's nice to write them anyway.

Feedback: Yes, please.

* * *

The cold breeze slammed another sheet of rain onto her, helplessly drenching her.

Eri never did master vacant stares as her eyes study the length of the rising river's water. She automatically begins to calculate how the overflowing water laps at the edges of the sidewalk in a semi-rhythmic pattern. The rough tides seem out of place when she thinks about the general calm of most afternoons.

The school uniform clings to her and perhaps on another occasion, it would have been attractive, Naota muses as he walks along the bridge to go home. He stops beside her, umbrella opened with barely enough space for one, but he manages to make room for her, even if it barely makes a difference how much rain falls on her.

The first thing that strikes him is how she wears her devastation like a heavy shroud that doesn't allow her to register much of anything else.

He's always considered her attractive, more so than the bubblegum teenage idol on magazine covers who make his classmates drool. Those sharp eyes (blue-gray, like the sky) don't miss much even though she feigns ignoring her surroundings.

For all the similarity, this scene is characteristic of Mamimi and what she would do, but Eri is different. She's stronger, more stubborn and driven to a fate that she can see so clearly. Seeing her like this is odd, so out of character for the know-it-all class president and the composed, precise image she's worked to cultivate over the years.

He says nothing, holding onto the grip of the umbrella's handle. His pants are getting wet and it's fairly uncomfortable, especially since he's getting cold from the wind blowing past them.

"He's gonna get married," she says and he knows exactly what she's talking about. "To that fucking floozy."

He's taken aback, seeing as the last time she mentioned anything about the matter, it seemed as though her parents were getting along. The political campaign last year had them prominently featured as the perfect family complete with smiles and accomplishments. But then, he's always been aware of the distance between image and reality.

From the looks of it, she probably walked off in the middle of dinner, since she's still wearing her school outfit. A quiet and sort of dramatic protest in her own way. He doubts she's capable of breaking dishes to prove a point.

He merely stares as more water accumulates in her hair and makes her clothes weigh more. The back of his jacket is undergoing the same fate, he notes with some discomfort as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"You're gonna get sick," he says flatly, masking his concern under that sarcastic tone he's mastered so well.

When she turns to face him, her eyes are surprisingly clear and there's barely any evidence of that persistent anger coupled with sadness and frustration.

"Come on," he adds with an edge of impatience before taking her arm to guide her away.

She nods once and seems somewhat relieved at the warmth his hand radiates through the heavy material.

* * *

By an implied mutual agreement, they won't mention their meeting at school the next morning. Because even though they're friends, they're different (he's labeled a delinquent for skipping class whenever he feels like it; she never misses a day, even if it kills her).

He sure as hell isn't out to corrupt her because she won't let herself. And she's not quite out to reform him because seriously, how terribly cliché is that?

Despite the glimmer of a sort-of attraction she's been harboring for him for several years, she isn't willing to reduce whatever this is into a caricature of a bad romance taken from sappy films. She's quite content to wait until this thing loses its grip on her so she can finally get over idealizing this ridiculous crush. But sadly, that stupid attraction is there, manifesting itself in the way she worries for him.

And to have him look after her for a change isn't helping her with the _I need to get over you_ timetable. It doesn't help that she's scrutinizing him for any possible meanings in the way he looks at her by mentally replaying it over and over. She scrubs at her scalp with the available minty shampoo hoping it will wash away those thoughts.

The hot spray that hits her in the shower is slightly painful at first, since it makes the numbness go away. She is made aware of the steam and the chill of the hallway when she steps out in the robe Naota lent her.

She doesn't knock when she goes into his room (the first door on the left at the top of the staircase), which is why she sees him hunched over a guitar.

He plucks gently at the cords, sounding out a low melody of no particular order and as easily forgettable as the fleeting whimsy that inspired it. It's really kind of rare to see him so concentrated like this.

Upon looking up, his eyes are slow to raise his gaze at her. There's an odd shiver that trails down her back that she tries to attribute to a random bead of water sliding down her spine.

It is a strange moment when she has nothing to say, completely dumbfounded by the way he's looking at her. Something burns under her skin in a slightly masochistic way that doesn't feel bad at all. She feels herself warming under the attention.

"Your clothes are drying," he says aloud after a moment longer of silence. There's that matter of fact tone that should belong to her, but somehow manages to elude her at the moment.

Unexpectedly nervous, her hand reaches up to scratch the nape of her neck when she realizes the front of the robe is a little too exposed, showing off way more cleavage than he's ever seen on her. She immediate covers up by tucking the front of the robe deeper into her side and tightening the belt until she's sure it'll leave a mark on her skin.

"Right," she replies, turning around, suddenly embarrassed.

The blank wall stares back at her blush and she finds herself hating the attention that makes her feel like a silly little girl.

He's smirking as she hears him dig through his dresser to retrieve pajama pants and one of his old shirts.

While she's huffing angrily at herself, he steps up behind her to offer the clothes as his arm winds around her shoulder.

"Here," he says simply. She fails to see how the look he gives her takes in the slope of her forehead to the tip of her chin.

And with a simple word, she notes the soft tone of his voice, slightly melodic in her ear. She wants so much to hear it again, just like that. But before she has a chance to thank or berate him, he's stepped out into the hallway, letting the door click shut behind him.

Ninamori pulls on her damp hair in exasperation.

* * *

Dinner is another thing altogether, as Ninamori sits in with the Nandaba family.

She hasn't spent the night since they were both twelve during the time that weird girl claiming to be the alien housekeeper hung around. For all the strangeness of that time period, this seems rather normal to her now. Comfortable, even.

Kamon babbles on about his 'zine and the benefits of being an underground publication, even though no one reads it. Shigekuni barks orders at Kanti, who merely shuffles around to serve them all as efficiently as possible. For not even tasting the food, the tempura Kanti made is well done and reasonably seasoned. She's learned a long time not to question such oddities and just take a certain amount of mystery to go along with it.

The most notable thing she sees is that Naota doesn't look as sour as when they were younger. He seems rather laid back this time around and doesn't bother trying to cover up or excuse his family's weirdness.

The rain hasn't let up and for once, she's grateful for the bad weather. There's probably minor flooding that would surely impede her from going home and it's not a bad thing at all, considering the awkward silence of the past few weeks.

A clap of thunder sounds through the small dining room, making Kamon jump and cling to the nearest body available. Naota yanks her away in time to avoid Kamon colliding into her. The last thing she sees before the lights go out is Naota's frown directed above her head.

She ends up plastered against him instead and if the lights had stayed on, the two would've looked as though in the middle of a intimate embrace.

"Umm, thanks," she mumbles to his collar bone.

This close, he smells like a lazy afternoon in the sun. It's rather nice, she thinks as she reluctantly extracts herself to sit upright once more. A mostly dormant part of her suddenly wakes as she wonders what it would be like to press her lips against his skin. But then she silently kicks herself for even thinking about such a thing in the middle of an awkward situation.

Amid the wailing sounds of Kamon bemoaning the lack of electricity and his grandfather pointing out some random historical fact about thunderstorms, Naota merely clears his throat.

"Yeah, no prob," he mutters, although he feels his face heat up.

No doubt she'd call him a pervert for even thinking about her in any way less than platonic. Somehow, that doesn't explain why she's so slow to move away from him and reaches for his shoulder even when she doesn't need it to steady herself.

Still, they're both grateful for the dark since it means they don't have to look at each other, lest it break the spell of indifference.

Kanti eventually makes it to the circuit breaker despite having Kamon stuck to his leg.

* * *

Perhaps because of Kamon's insinuations about Eri's presence well after dark, Naota has the bright idea to catch a late movie on the television even though it is a school night.

If anything, the neutral living room area would keep his father from saying stupid things about the two of them sleeping behind a closed door in the same room.

An old detective story is playing in black and white and mostly faded grays on the screen. It emits a soft glare on the living room walls, casting nonthreatening shadows behind them. Even the dialogue is subdued underneath the tense plot.

Her eyelids are dropping before half of the film passes and she's not sure if she'll be able to stay up long enough to know if the butler did it. As she struggles to remain awake, her tired body begins a slow downward slide that eventually has her resting against a pleasant warmth. For all the things troubling her, she can't seem to recall a single thing as she breathes easily.

Naota doesn't bother trying to move her, since he's too tired himself to really do anything about it. It's when he looks down at the stray locks of hair across her face that he realizes they probably should have gone to sleep in his room. Because then the two of them would be in separate beds (since he's long gotten over saving Tasuku's spot) and she wouldn't be sidled up next to him.

Yeah, he thinks skeptically, even though he's brushing away soft hair from her face.

His blames his muddled thoughts on sleep when she presses his hand against her cheek and mumbles incoherently. Gradually, he shifts to lie on his back and she follows suit by trying to find a comfortable spot as she uses his chest as a pillow.

* * *

Rising early is a habit Eri gained long ago by hearing it so long from her parents to get to class on time. She's gotten to the point where she can anticipate her alarm clock by at least 15 minutes.

This morning is no different, even without the alarm. She's more tired than usual and her arm is asleep, but she's in relatively good shape as her bleary eyes open. Still, she revels in the warmth from an unknown source and even burrows into it a little more, nuzzling what she perceives to be a cushion in the unknown room.

Then she feels a slow rise and drop when she finally notices that there's a heartbeat under her ear. And it's quite steady.

Her eyes snap open and take a moment to properly focus on the surroundings.

The nearly mute morning news broadcast is playing on the television. Old curtains are filtering pale sunlight into the room. The two of them are asleep on the couch. And she's on top of Naota.

While her first instinct is to scramble off him and bolt out of there, she's aware that such movements would wake him. And that would be no good, since it would intensify the awkwardness of the situation.

She's surprised at how rational she can think so early in the morning, especially with a potentially difficult moment on her hands.

She proceeds slowly to raise herself off him, sliding her head off his chest first. Her arms are next, even though she can't really feel one of them all that well. It's a breathless moment when she hovers over him momentarily and makes the mistake of looking at him.

And it hits her how freaking adorable he looks then and there. Well, except for a few stubborn strands of hair over his forehead that she very much wants to push out of the way.

He's still asleep and it's definitely a good thing, lest she be blamed for wanting to take advantage of him. And while he may be sort of right (after all, she did stay over uninvited), coming onto him is not the kind of thing she's interested in doing (not most of the time anyway, if she's completely honest and certainly not now).

But he's breathing calmly and slowly while she tries to get a hold of herself in the current dilemma.

The latest lessons in probability from class kick in, telling her there's a strong chance he'll wake up if she jars him too much.

Her semi-acrobatic skills come into use as she maneuvers herself off him. Then she remembers how the bad blood flow of her arm is not going to provide any support when tries to grip the edge of the couch and winds up rolling onto the floor in a semi-gracious state.

She tenses, waiting for him to wake up and freak out.

But when nothing happens, she merely stares at the ceiling and works on making the circulation flow properly again in her arm.

And after finally leaving the pesky couch, she takes a moment to celebrate her victorious escape by stretching her arms upward and arching her back. Her head is rolling pleasantly on her shoulders when she finally realizes that she's wearing his (very comfortable) clothes and there's a quiz she forgot to prep for.

The good student in her begins to panic since since she doesn't know exactly where her school uniform is hanging.

She takes another look at him and remembers seeing him sleeping before. That time when he didn't show up to class for a few days. She'd foregone the morning ride to school and decided to walk instead. He was asleep on a sidewalk bench like some bum under a thin layer of newspaper. And beside him was the housekeeper with bright pink hair.

Her fists tighten.

She stares at him again. There's one arm his above his head and the other is on his stomach. It leaves her momentarily wondering if he fell asleep with his fingers in her hair. Unconsciously, her fingers rake gently along her scalp.

That brief bit of anger as the memory somewhat fades away, but not enough for her to get completely over it.

A little inspiration arrives when she kneels beside him and reaches out to brush back that annoying lock of hair from his face.

For all her breathless anticipation, nothing happens.

He dreams away normally, steadily.

Slightly braver, she lets her fingers trail along his forehead, down his cheek and across his jaw. And then studies him some more, taking in the lines of his face so up close.

_I need to get over you_, she chants in her head, even though she's looking rather intently at his mouth and wondering entirely too much about how the exact feel and pressure of a kiss would taste.

Technically, they've kissed before, but it was mostly accidental, seeing as he was knocked out by the vespa woman as he hurtled towards her. In that way, it doesn't really count if she's the only one that remembers it. He was out cold with those cute kitty ears on his head appearing when his hat had fallen. Kind of like he is now. Minus the strange appendages, that is.

Ninamori sighs, thinking how nothing's ever really been all that normal between them in such a boring town.

An echo of a fairy tale reminds her of sleepy royals that are supposed to wake up and she wonders if it applies to boys as well. She's tempted to run her thumb along his lower lip to see if it's really as soft as it seems, but withdraws her hand at the last second.

Instead, her hands reach lower before she pulls out the pillow under his head.

This time, he wakes up freaking out.

"Hey!"


	2. Stolid

A/N: Keeping on with this story. I love these two.

* * *

He waits for the inevitable wake up call of her oversized book bag to hit him.

The digital clock with the alarm that is never set doesn't have to tell him Ninamori's due at any moment. His jaw clenches as he braces himself.

"Naota! Do you know what time it is?" she screeches, and he doesn't stop to wonder when and where it was that she invaded his room without permission, a concept that may have been completely alien to her when it regarded him. It seemed more as though she allowed herself into his life without asking if he cared to have her around or not.

Regardless, the silence stays for a little while.

"Are you listening? And where's your homework for history and math?"

Truth be told, he'd prefer it if she found another way to wake him up. Teenage hormones and all that are telling him of a different sort of physical contact. But the usual black book-bag hits against his ribcage instead as she forces him to confront another day in the confines of the classroom.

And so begins another day.

The morning routine is like any other day, with him rolling out of bed as Ninamori herds him out of the door and towards school on time.

His grandfather rather likes watching her get him out of the house in the morning. He bosses Canti around the kitchen and watches behind a dusty cloud of flour how Naota gets up and is dragged around at her insistence. There's a look of resignation on the boy from his dropping shoulders and sluggish disposition, but it's far from annoyance or anger. This little routine has him wondering when either one of the two will crack and do something about it.

Shigekuni hands Ninamori a sweet roll before the two head off. She accepts with a nod and a small smile. Then she gives Naota a little shove to get him going.

* * *

Naota learned to thrive under the abuse of her vocalized annoyance in the morning.

"We'll be done with it soon," he tells her. "It's not like we have to worry much about it."

Standing in front of him, she straightens out the collar of his shirt over the tie she just finished readjusting. He doesn't bother to swat her hands away, thinking it too much trouble to muster that much energy so early in the morning. Besides, she isn't jarring him much as she straightens his clothes.

"You should worry more about getting through high school," she starts. "Otherwise, you'll only stay stuck here."

While her eyes are cast under a small frown of concentration as her arms wind around his neck, he briefly wonders what it'd be like to just step closer and actually be in her embrace. His eyes are drawn to the shine on her lips as he notes the lip gloss she's wearing. He guesses that it's plum flavored from the slight tinge of color and he kind of wants to taste it.

It's been quite some time since he kissed anyone. He was literally floating the last time it happened, wielding a guitar and telling Haruko he loved her as part of Mabase crumbled from the latest attack of weird robots. Thoughts of pink hair and destruction swirled around in his head for a moment.

Before he can dwell on that memory much longer, Ninamori's done and walking ahead of him. He stares at the retreating figure of her back and those legs before he catches up to her in a few steps.

There's a sidelong glance that she does not see. He's got an eyebrow quirked at her words as he thinks it ironic that she's lecturing him on growing up when she's the one having trouble adjusting.

He chooses to say nothing instead and bumps lightly into her shoulder, pretending it's the early morning along with the sun's glare that doesn't let him coordinate properly. They both know it's not true, even though they keep going forward. She doesn't seem to mind it at all that he knocks her sideways a few steps.

As usual, his arm reaches out to take her by the wrist and straighten her along the path she was following. He doesn't hang on for long, but she always feels his fingers linger for a moment before sliding off. They immediately go to his face to rub the remaining sleep from his eyes.

No one really sees this quiet method of interaction. And if any one of their classmates had, they would have called it flirting.

* * *

They mostly avoid each other at school, which is usual given how busy she is with the upcoming school festival.

There's a transfer student sitting beside him trying to get his attention. Perhaps for being in front of the class as she's talking and writing on the board, she is able to notice. But he doesn't really see that silly bottle blonde since his attention is diverted ahead, along with everyone else's, albeit for different reasons.

Ninamori is tallying up votes for this year's theme.

From his vantage point along the window, Naota notices the wrinkles in her clothes, the only evidence linked to a break in her façade. She doesn't look all that worn out from her minor breakdown and he's rather surprised at how quickly she can compose herself.

Someone's arguing about the merits of having a live band playing (probably Matsu), while someone else is extolling the virtues of cosplay as a marketing ploy to gain people's attention. There's a minor debate going on about maid versus Playboy bunny costumes.

There's a blonde - Haruna - Ninamori forces herself to remember the name, is leaning over and asking Naota something. The blonde is a pretty girl, one who would no doubt wear that damned bunny costume with no shame. Ninamori has too much dignity to be wearing slutty getup.

She looks away, out to the window in the corner - the one he's seated beside and watches a branch sway in the breeze, watching a few leaves drift downward.

His eyes can't seem to leave her and when her calm gaze settles on him for a long moment, he's not sure how to react. The repetitive pulse sounds out in his ears a little louder than before, but is neither faster nor slower.

There's a blur of sounds around him that drift about in aimless conversation. A soft breeze blows in through an open window, gently tousling her hair over her shoulder. He can smell the warmth of late spring in the air, a bit like fresh cut grass.

It reminds him of a dream he's been trying to forget. One similar to this where she's standing closer, staring at him before tilting her face just a bit and —

His eyes fall just a tiny bit to focus on her mouth and notices how she pouts just a little. As he raises an eyebrow, Ninamori can feel the heat of his scrutiny despite the dozen or so desks between them.

She bites her lip and is the first one to look away.

"We'll take a vote," she announces.

He's left wondering what she'll do to get her way. He's never quite forgotten that stupid play in the sixth grade. That damned mouse outfit was itchy, too, never mind that she called him cute. The pen dangles impatiently between his fingers, wondering why the hell that comment has persistently stuck around.

Ninamori turns around and neatly prints out suggestions on the blackboard. He finds himself staring at the lines of her arm that leads up to the curve of a shoulder and the neat arch of her throat.

There are no paper ballots this time. It turns out she doesn't do anything that ensures questionable results since she merely calls out the choices and tallies up the raised hands.

A small grin is partially hidden behind his fingers from sheer amusement.


	3. Rebel, Rebel

A/N: Still working on this. Swear.

A/N II: Amended to include a part I originally left off.

Feedback: Penny for your thoughts?

* * *

A few days later, Naota is missing from class. Again.

Probably faking an illness or something (typical), not that she cares since she is trying to endure this long and boring class. Given the material, she would have liked more enthusiasm from her teacher, who only blathers on about sporadic events in a monotone voice she hates.

The strong smell of coffee only adds to her growing despondency of being stuck in world history. As usual, the same cup of coffee resides in Mr. Ohta's hand, the nauseating scent wafting into her front row seat and giving her the beginnings of a headache.

It suddenly hits her how bitter caffeine props up the man to spout facts and figures of entire lifetimes that would otherwise be interesting if another, more capable instructor were teaching the class.

She stares fixedly at the mug and its black contents.

Addict.

Her teacher is an addict.

She remembers the usual packet of cigarettes in Ms. Tsuji's pocket, the girl's gym coach who always preaches the gospel of ultra-feminism, health and physical fitness. The irony is apparently lost on that woman.

"And where might Nandaba be?" Mr. Ohta asks.

She feels the weight twenty pairs of eyes on her. It's heavy. And she belatedly realizes he is taking attendance. Of course she'll stick up for him and they're all waiting to see what excuse she'll use to cover for him.

Oddly enough, she is not coming to the rescue. At least not immediately. They wait for a reaction.

She's staring out of a window. Wistfully is seems. It's a crisp morning and for once, the good girl wants to rebel and play hooky.

The sun peeks teasingly through a few fluffy clouds.

Mr. Ohta takes her silence as an affirmative that the missing student is indeed cutting class. She hears him mutter something about delinquents in the making. The roll book falls on the desk like a loud slap. And before he can open his mouth to begin the morning torture, an odd rush of cold runs down her spine.

The pencil in her hand snaps.

"Well maybe if the school were up to the educational standards it should be," she begins without asking her brain permission. "Then students wouldn't feel the need to skip class if the instructor was both qualified and not so boring."

She meant to speak calmly, even if she was sniping at the history teacher. She's not the debate captain for nothing.

Mr. Ohta puts his mug down on the desk. No one's ever seen him without it. A collective silence falls heavily in the classroom.

"Students are not allowed to tell teachers what is conducive to planning lessons for classes," he replies, speaking slowly. The condescension only fuels her further. She is indignant.

"We're the only reason you have a job in the first place," she grits out through her teeth. So what if she sounds like a snotty kid? She never asked for a crappy teacher to bore her to tears, even though she had the choice to attend another school.

At this point, it's more than that. It's one more adult who doesn't follow through. Do as I say and not as I do. The same load of bullshit she keeps hearing.

She's beginning to understand what the meaning of insurrection is all about. She feels like one of those people who sets animals free at the zoo or steals live lobsters from water tanks to get back to the sea - all inexplicable and strange to bewildered onlookers, but perfectly sensible in the moment.

"And have you actually read the textbook?" she asks incredulously. "It's riddled with errors and typos. This – this (she points to her book accusingly) will be brought up at the Student Council meeting, as will the hiring practices of this school in general which ought to be revised."

This isn't behavior befitting class president and academic darling. She's already threatened and insulted a teacher. Those alone are grounds for suspension. And suddenly, she's on a roll.

"As a tool of socialization, I would rank this as the least effective class of the entire education institution. Surely, boring the entire class with mere figures and years isn't meant to teach us anything other than to develop a tolerance against sleep since we're fighting to stay awake."

If anything, she's learned to adopt the same pompous tone she's heard her father use in stump speeches. It's the only thing she's learned from the old man.

"Ninamori!" comes the shocked reply.

"At this rate, we'll all be insomniacs."

The class watches the exchange like a tennis match. They are torn between applauding or covering their eyes.

* * *

Alone with only her footsteps as companions, she let loose a few quiet chuckles, followed by spontaneous brief giggles. She is nearly bouncing with each step, feeling lighter than she has in weeks.

Full blown laughter takes longer to emerge and when it does, she can't stop herself for a long moment after she trips on an unsteady stretch of sidewalk.

It's not her best moment. Not like when she got applauded after the "Marquis de Carabas" play in the sixth grade.

She shouldn't be this proud after getting suspended two days from school. (She shouldn't be proud, period.) But she can't help enjoy the sun on her face, even when a cool wind sends a flurry of dead leaves flying past her. There's something more lingering from her rebellious outburst. She looks back behind her, taking backward steps while seeing the looming walls of the school lessen in their domineering height.

It's when she reaches the bridge that she realizes how much her cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

When she happens to look down at the river bank, Naota is standing there, skipping stones off the water's surface.

She cups both hands around her mouth and inhales deeply.

"Hey!" she calls and when he gazes up in confusion, she's waving at him with a smile.

* * *

The soles of her bare feet are skimming the surface of the water in the river.

Naota is lying in the sunlight, arms cradling the back of his head on the grass. He hasn't said anything about her being there several hours too early from the dismissal bell. Her mood is bright, something he hasn't seen in a long time.

"So what'd you do?" he drawls, moving his arm to cover his eyes.

Ninamori looks up from gentle current of water and a branch drifting nearby.

"Huh?" she asks, eyes following the moving branch when she notices the little flowers clustered on its ends.

"Did you manage to get the senior class a half day for research or something?" he tries again.

It would be the nerdy thing for her to do. Like any good leader, she's good with words and swaying people, even if it's complete bullshit.

"Nope," her answer is clipped, amused.

She falls on her back, legs following her movements as they stretch out before her, water dripping off her bare heels. She image the tiny ripples being erased in the slow moving water. Naota silently weighs her response and thinks of more questions. There's one on the tip of his tongue as he thinks of the exact words to articulate it.

"I'm hungry," she remarks, choosing that moment to pay attention to the insistent gnawing of her stomach.

She bolted out the house first thing in the morning and when Naota was nowhere to be found, she'd foregone breakfast before diving into full blown irritation.

Kneeling beside him, she pulls on his sleeve, drops his arm on the warm grass.

"What's good around here?" she asks.

Fingertips brush away a stubborn lock of hair on his sudden brightness is blinding as his vision focuses. Blue eyes are lovely in the early afternoon sunlight.

Neither one is sure how long the minor staring contest lasts until a horn honks in the distance. Ninamori is the first to look away.

"So?" she asks again.

He rubs at his eyes and it's similar to the waking up routine she's used to seeing most mornings.

"There's a ramen stand not too far from here," he says.

A corner of her mouth rises and he finds himself staring at her, liking the half-assed attempt of a smile on the class president.

"Sounds perfect."

* * *

It was bound to happen. Like all things that are finally going well, there's the proverbial wrench thrown into the machine.

Ninamori later blames herself for insisting to go back to the river bank after having a perfectly decent meal at the ramen stand he recommended. Her fists don't stop clenching and for once, it has nothing to do with her father's upcoming wedding.

It begins when Naota's lying on a sunny stretch of grass by the river while the bits of green Ninamori maliciously shredded carried in the breeze cling to him. A smile halfway between serene and amused spreads out on his face. He sits up to shake off the grass from his hair and clothes. Ninamori decides to help him, her hands tangling up his hair on purpose by the time he notices why she's laughing.

She doesn't get to hear him complain about it as they are about to be interrupted.

It's the whirring sound of a motor passing above them that alerts them first. When it halts all of a sudden, the second clue they get is an ominous shadow that has him sitting up. It's distorted and odd looking and getting larger as Naota manages to turn around.

"Tak-kun!" a strangely familiar cry sounds out.

Immediately after that, Ninamori only sees him flying out over the water, bouncing off the surface a few times like stones she's seen him skip earlier. He sinks into the shallow depths not so long after that.

Alarmed, Ninamori turns her head to the spot Naota was just situated. Pink hair sticks out prominently above dusty goggles. A demented smile is spread over that face while the guitar is still in mid swing. Further behind, a yellow vespa is twitching on its side, lying forgotten on the cement bank of the river.

"Shit," Ninamori swears before scrambling up to her feet.

Then she's off and chasing after Naota, not caring how her uniform is soaking all the way through as she splashes through the water to get to him. When she finally reaches him, she's hauling him up to make sure he's not drowning or anything.

As she suspected, he's knocked out by the force of the impact since he's not reacting to the way she's violently shaking his shoulders back and forth. In her panic, she drags him back to shore, where Haruko is squatting on the grass with her guitar between her legs. The predatory look isn't gone from her golden eyes as Ninamori slides him over the cement bank. She kneels beside him as she hovers over his knocked out frame. She dearly hopes she's not trying to wake a corpse in vain.

Ninamori frowns darkly at Haruko as she works on reviving Naota, who hasn't opened his eyes.

"Come on," she coaxes while trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

Kneeling beside him, her hands are at his neck and and face, checking for both pulse and breathing. Both appear, although she can't tell at first.

She slicks back wet hair from his face, checking the area where he's likely to bruise. So far, nothing seems too bad since he's clearly survived that attack, but she's still worried. The last time Haruko was around, all sorts of crazy things happened: aliens, robots, spontaneous fighting, indiscriminate chaos, collateral damage and weird, inexplicable horns.

"Hey, wake up," she goes on, practically begging as she gently slaps his face between her hands. "Please?"

It has the intended effect as he coughs up water and then shoots up into a sitting position. Relieved, Ninamori only throws her arms around him and holds on. Despite the splitting headache, he doesn't move, finding the smooth expanse beneath her collar to be soothing against his forehead.

"Ow, ow, ow," he complains. "Fuck, that hurt."

Ninamori allows herself to exhale and even smiles a little. Naota pulls back a little to look at her as fingers brush back his drenched hair. Something about the afternoon lights up her eyes differently, more brightly as he stares. She's panting and soaked and he really likes her messy appearance. It's rather impulsive of her since he notices how she really isn't caring that her shirt is transparent, even though he's trying not to look. He belatedly realizes how he's in her arms and had just stuck his head between her breasts just moments before.

"Well, well, well," Haruko interrupts.

Ninamori's arms loosen, gradually dropping to her sides before he starts to move away.

"Looks like I owe your grandpa some money," Haruko drawls, eyeing them both before picking at her teeth.

Naota stands up, feet slipping on the wet bank as he tries to straighten up. Ninamori looks up at him, quietly fuming over the ruined moment. He's no longer twelve, after all. And hard hits to the head as a greeting or form of affection aren't going over so well.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Naota yells.

Haruko doesn't seem fazed at all, since she merely huffs absentmindedly at the stray lock of hair that insists on covering her right eye. It rises slightly before falling right back in place. From Haruko's smirk, Ninamori feels like maybe she was wrong and time hasn't really changed any of them much as an argument breaks out.

"Are all aliens as stupid as you?" he spits venomously.

Ninamori hangs back, watching the rigid lines of his back as he yells at Haruko.

"Not quite the same," Haruko mumbles to herself while measuring his head between her thumb and forefinger. "Still might work, though."

A small notepad emerges from her pocket as she jots down something.

"Why can't you manage a normal greeting?" he asks.

This is the most animated Ninamori has seen him. Just like the time Haruko first appeared, he is argumentative, silly, indignant and a lot more vocal. She's suddenly back in sixth grade and wondering why he isn't noticing her. Again. For all her efforts in the past few years, he doesn't see her.

"Stupid extraterrestrials," Naota hisses.

Part of her is tempted to reach out and grab a handful of his drenched, dirty shirt to remind him she's there. But she resists, biting down on her lip instead as her fists clench over her knees. She's not part of the background, damn it. If he doesn't know that already...

"Never did understand why you're such a freak," he goes on.

_I need to get over you_, she mentally chants. So this might be her chance after all. Seeing the boy she likes being snatched away by some stranger might be all it takes.

There's the nasty feel of water sloshing in her shoes as she gets up.

"See you," she announces, breaking away from his angry tirade.

When he turns around, her hiked skirt is midway up her thighs as she wrings out the excess water. She doesn't know it, but he's almost forgotten why his forehead hurts. A strangely familiar ache seizes his chest, rendering him unable to breathe properly for a moment.

Except for the length and color of her hair along with a more shapely, slender figure, it reminds him of Mamimi when she used to wade out into the water to rescue randomly floating items that caught her eye. It suddenly occurs to him how Ninamori went after him instead. Without thinking, it seems, if he goes by her appearance.

Arms raised, Ninamori twists water out of her hair. Even though her shirt is sticking to her, he gets a peek of skin when the wet material rides up her stomach. Then, with deliberate calm, she collects her bag and turns away to make her exit. If anything, she knows the reason he still plays guitar just attempted to bash his head in and will most likely continue to do so.

She kind of envies Haruko for being able to do that.

Even though he can clearly see her bra, Naota is more focused on the shape of Ninamori's retreating back and the water dripping behind her as she makes it out of there.


End file.
